


Someone To Ride The River With

by Smith



Series: The Doubtful Adventures of the Scoundrel Sinnerman Reed and his Irreverent Reverend Archer [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smith/pseuds/Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archer contemplates his involvement with Reed while they're trapped in a cave during a rainstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Ride The River With

**Author's Note:**

> The warnings are for copious usage of colourful curses. Check out that sentence. This AU rather came out of nowhere and gobbled me whole. The tongue-in-cheek western setting is one in which I've never showed the remotest interest, but now I have a thousand and one plotbunnies for it and they're not going away any time soon. This is also one of my few forays into a first person perspective, so do forgive if it feels contrived.
> 
> An eternal thank you to my beta and hand-holder extraordinaire, mareel, and my Americanism checker EntAllat. The heartiest of toasts to you both and an extra glass of bubbly.

How I came to find myself in the company of Solitaire Reed, the only gunslinger in the west with the accent of British royalty, was a long story, and the one in which we became stranded in a cave in a deluge even longer. It's safe to assume it includes bandits, lawmen and at least one brothel.

The man groaned and I tore myself away from the cave entrance where the horses stood listlessly, observing faraway lightning. Shivering and soaked to the bone, I contemplated the saddlebags, but Reed had already forbidden us from starting a fire lest our pursuers were still around. I glanced to my companion's hunched figure, observing the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

"You ready to let me take a look at that wound yet?" I asked with raised eyebrows.

"No, Sir," he said with a wince, shifting his hips so he could better lean back against the wall. "I'm fine."

"You're still losing blood," I commented, crouching down just out of arms reach.

"I'm not letting you and your spurious medical knowledge anywhere near me, thank you," Reed replied sharply. "Keep your snake oil to yourself."

"The wound will fester if someone doesn't get out that bullet."

"I can do it myself." Reed gasped in a shaky breath through his teeth.

"I can see you've made real progress on that over the last hour." I prodded his arm. "You've seen men debilitated and delirious from infection - that really how you want to go out?"

Reed shot me a particularly venomous glare then slumped back. Taking the opportunity to grab my medicine bag while Reed's eyes were closed and his fingers released another trickle of blood over his knuckles, I straddled the man's legs. With his strength waning and guard uncharacteristically lowered, I had little trouble pinning him down.

Nonetheless, his eyes flew open and the fight returned, beginning an ineffective struggle against me. "Get the fuck off me!"

I easily wrangled both of his wrists into one of mine and pinned them against the rock. "So how many times is this now that I've had to hold you down when you've been shot?" Pushing back Reed's vest, I yanked the bloody shirt away from his side, finally getting his first good view of the wound. Reed's whole body tensed underneath me as he hissed.

"None," he replied sharply, his jaw clenched. "Maybe once."

"I count three times at least," I mused idly, squinting in the dim light. "Right, this is what's going to happen. I'm going to find something to set on fire so I can goddamn see."

"If the Dirty Gentleman is still in the gorge, he'll see us from a mile off," Reed immediately protested. "We're sitting ducks."

"The Dirty Gentleman is the least of your worries right now, Reed." I met his eyes, and then slowly climbed off of him. "And you're in little position to stop me."

"You fool," he muttered as I began to build a fire pit near the mouth of the cave. Ignoring him, I concentrated on amassing our small collection of wood chips, debris from around the cave and a few soiled rags soaked with Archer's elixir, then set it alight with a match.

"Okay. Here's what's going to happen," I started as I returned to Reed's side, thrusting a flask into his hands. "Drink, or don't drink, it's up to you, but it'll help with the pain. I'm going to dig the bullet out and then stitch you up."

Reed grumbled and took a swig from the flask, then squeezed his eyes closed and pursed his lips. "God. That's foul. What is it?" He took another few gulps.

"A special recipe," I replied. "It should hit you in about a minute."

"It's fucking awful," he said. "But I can at least feel it doing the job."

"Good, let's get started." I poured some of the special recipe onto a rag and wiped away the blood.

Reed fidgeted and hissed underneath him. "You bastard! You syphilitic whore's cunt!"

Chuckling dryly, I retrieved my medical tongs and peered more closely at the injury. "Hm." Without looking back to Reed's face, I grabbed the bloodied alcohol rag and stuffed it in the man's mouth. My gesture was received with a growl of indignant mumbling, so I chose that opportunity to push the metal instrument into the wound and root around for the bullet.

The man underneath me let out a muffled scream against the rag and trembled fiercely. His shaking grew progressively worse as I adjusted my angle and finally pulled the pellet out.

Dropping it onto a nearby rock, I looked up to see tear tracks streaking his dirty face.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "But this is going to hurt worse." Retrieving the bottle, I poured a generous swig into the wound.

The rag fell out of his mouth as Reed howled in agony, a sound that echoed against the rocks and returned to deafen me. Without thinking, I clamped my hand down over his mouth and felt Reed's teeth sink into my fingers.

"Son of a bitch!" As soon as the man relaxed, I pulled my hand free and watched the blood gather on my knuckles.

"You deserved it," he breathed harshly, his cheeks flushed and eyes bloodshot. "And such language does not become a pastor, Rev. However much of a joke your faith seems to be."

With a sneer, I sloshed a little elixir on my hand, then deliberately made an ordeal of probing Reed's wound for any dirt or scraps of fabric. I let the man scream this time, then unravelled the suture thread and pushed the rag back into his mouth. "More pain, but I ain't sorry this time."

As I held him down, I felt his resistance wane. His abdominal muscles relaxed under my fingers, his eyes closed, his breathing - while still erratic - grew deeper. I concentrated on my work, though my hand throbbed, slowly drawing the edges of the wound together. When I'd torn the thread with my teeth and given the area a final wipe, I struggled to pull him up enough to wrap the bandage around his waist.

By the time I eased him back against the rocks, he was asleep. With a sigh, I withdrew to tend the fire, after retrieving a strip of jerky to chew. It occurred to me that he'd need proper sustenance to get us on the road again as quickly as possible, so I dug supplies out of the saddlebags and began to chop an onion and a few strips of salted, smoked bacon while green coffee beans toasted in a skillet.

With half a pound of spiced beans simmering in the coals - the rain on my skin renewed by a journey to the creek for water - and the kettle waiting for toasted, ground coffee beans, I unfolded the bedrolls and eased the sleeping Englishman down into a more comfortable position. I stripped him out of his clothes, figuring it best we share warmth, and tossed them near his hat. Leaving the beans to simmer, I crawled under the blankets with him and shut my eyes for a few moments.

When I woke, night had fallen outside the cave and I was alone, wrapped in the blankets. I could hear the soft snorting of the sleeping horses under the overhang outside, and the silhouette of my gunslinger occasionally flashing across the cave when distant lightning split the horizon. The fire had dwindled to embers, lending a smoky undertone to the savory scent of beans and the emerging fragrance of coffee that Reed had set on the flames. While the rain continued, it now pitter-pattered more lightly against the ground.

Escaping the bed roll, I approached the man's hunched figure, watching him stare into the gorge with keen eyes, left arm curled close to his chest to try and protect the healing wound. It seemed he'd only just managed to pull on his pants, leaving them unfastened and slung low around his hips, weighed down by the belt holster he wouldn't be seen dead without.

"Are you determined to tear your stitches?" I asked.

A shiver made his shoulders twitch, and he glanced at me with darkened eyes. "Well, someone's got to keep watch. You were doing such a sorry job of it."

Rolling my eyes, I grunted and slumped down beside the fire. "Bleed out, you cantankerous son of a whore. And that's the last time I trust you on a 'sure thing', just so you know."

Reed hobbled over and eased himself back down into the bedroll. "I didn't know we were going to get dry-gulched, did I?"

"No more than ten men, you said. A huge bounty, you said. Enough to repay our debts, you said."

Reed shrugged. "I didn't know Wanted Watson was working with the Dirty Gentleman. I don't think anyone did. We're lucky we got out of there breathing. We're lucky we're _still_ breathing."

"Ever consider that Mayweather set you up?" I busied myself pushing the beans around the pan, the silky gravy gifting us with wafts of that nutty smell.

Reed scowled into the embers, throwing a pebble at the kettle. "Get me some some coffee, would you?"

Grumbling under my breath, I poured two cups of the dark liquid and passed one over, leaving my own to steam nearby. "I think you're gonna need a couple day's rest before you even attempt riding on them stitches."

"We'll ride out at dawn," he mumbled decisively as he sipped his brew.

"Ain't nobody else here, Reed. No need to play to the gallery." Grabbing the ladle, I filled a bowl and shoved it over to him. "Fill your belly, need to keep your strength up."

Our eyes met, with a brief brush of fingers, as he leaned over to reach it. I scooted closer so as not to make him tug his stitches again.

"Thanks," he said as he dropped his gaze.

"First time we met, I dragged you out of a brothel, sewed up another gunshot, let you vomit on me, lied to a lawman - god knows why - and watched you steal my horse," I shrugged. "So take a break, would you? You're injured. Rest. We're friends, aren't we?"

Reed growled. "Pass me my rolling papers."

"That stuff'll kill you," I remarked, as I obliged.

"Hopefully sooner rather than later," Reed said as he lined tobacco on a paper.

I turned back to the food, digging my spoon deep into the beans and blowing to cool it down.

"Bang-up job on the food," Reed remarked after he'd rolled his post-meal cigarette and started eating. "Cheers."

"You're welcome." I glanced over to watch him eat; he apparently had no care for the heat, eagerly gulping down spoonfuls until his bowl was empty.

When the coffee kettle was empty and the beans half-eaten, a few extra scraps on the fire to keep it going, I watched him fall asleep in the dying light, relieved he was resting. I made a cursory effort to keep watch, pacing outside the cave a few times, but the darkness and the rain quickly drove me back to the bedrolls. I sat awake for a few hours, before realizing I'd need my rest to contend with Reed's stubbornness come morning.

Some hours later I was startled awake by the sound of choking. Reed, lying flat on his back and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, was clawing at his bare, heaving chest, his shallow gasps echoing dully in the cavern. I hauled myself up, my eyes straining in the dark. Fumbling in my pockets, I lit a match and the tiny flame illuminated the panic on my companion's face.

It took me several frantic moments to figure out his body had gone rigid with pain, his eyes burning into me as my heart pounded in my ears, then several more to find the flask I'd given him earlier, lost among the rocks. Apologizing for my hasty roughness, I sat up and grabbed him underneath the armpits, pulling him up so he could breathe. With a groan, he choked and spluttered as the tension in his chest eased, before reaching for the alcohol and taking a long swig.

"You alright?" I asked, adjusting my legs on either side of him so he could recline without having to hold himself up and place extra stress on the injury.

"Better now," he croaked, swallowing thickly.

"What would you do without me?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Carrion, probably," he muttered exhaustedly in response. "Or an unmarked grave if I'm lucky."

I managed a chuckle, then attempted to get comfortable against the rocky cave wall. "Pessimistic bastard."

"To my rotten core." Reed toasted himself with the flask and drank deeply.

My hands gently rested on his elbows, feeling the hairs rise underneath my touch. As the elixir started to take effect, he relaxed into me; I felt his back heave more gently against me as he drew easier breath. "As soon as you're fit to ride, we're heading back to Smoky Ridge and staying a while. You look like you been ridden worse than the horses."

That got a snort out of him. I smiled and let him rest, keeping my arms around him so he wouldn't slump too far down.

Much to my shock, Reed was still asleep when the sun rose. With my neck sore and my back in knots, I carefully shifted him onto the rocks, then piled up my own bedroll for him to lean against while I headed outside. The night's chill was already receding against the rising heat as I stretched my aching legs and took a leak.

"If we go to Smoky Ridge, we'll be in the hoosegow before you can say cream gravy," he said when I came back in and made an effort to restart the fire. "We'll go to Jamestown. My mate Dancer will give us a few nights at the Sundown Hotel. He owes me."

With a sigh, I managed to nod. "Gotcha. Glad you're seeing sense this morning."

Reed nodded and lifted himself up a few inches, placing his weight more heavily on his right side. "Thanks for, you know, not letting me die in my sleep." He sipped a little elixir to apparently lubricate his progress into the day, then tossed the empty flask in my direction. "Have you got any more?"

"Course," I replied. "It's my miracle cure. What kind of salesman would I be without my product?" I reached over to grab another bottle and handed it over. "But try not to drink too much."

Our eyes met as Reed smirked. "I thought it was a miracle cure to heal all illnesses, ailments and over-indulgences?"

"Yeah, but if you drink too much of it you might go blind," I replied with a shrug.

Reed chuckled dryly, then winced at the tug on his wound. "I'm surprised it hasn't killed me already, you bloody fraud, but between this putrid liquor and the gunshot, I think I bet on the right mare. I'm actually starting to like it."

With a bellow of laughter, I managed to get a flame going, but we'd need more kindling soon. I yawned and propped myself up on an elbow as I stared into the young licks of fire, and I considered the way our relationship had developed over the last year, with this man who felt as distant as a stranger but closer than a brother.

I realized that regardless of how we'd met, we were damn well stuck together now - in sickness and in health.


End file.
